Strawberries
by heartsways
Summary: Based on a 5 sentence fic prompt, this turned into something longer, and something...else. Emma decides to feed Regina some chocolate covered strawberries, but once she's tied Regina to a chair, it all goes in a completely different direction.


Regina doesn't like mess; it's something that underpins everything, from the pristine appearance of her home to the sterile atmosphere of her office. It's what she clings to fastidiously, almost to the point of obsession. Emma likes to poke fun at it, rolling her eyes when Regina rises from the couch to move the carriage clock on the mantelpiece a fraction to one side, standing back to check that it is equidistant from either end.

They both have quirks, Emma reasons, and Regina's are rooted in a well-developed sense of control over anything and everything in her life.

It's ironic, then, that the one thing over which Regina has _no_ control at all is Emma herself. And in the difficult early stages of their relationship, there were times when Emma suspected Regina might actually burst a vein when she found clothes discarded carelessly on the bedroom floor, or when there were toast crumbs strewn across the kitchen counter.

The détente they've reached is still a little uneasy, but Regina's learning to relax, slowly but surely. And Emma's learning to adhere to some of the house rules. _Mostly_.

So as Emma kneels behind the chair and grasps Regina's arms, pulling them down and wrapping rope around them, she knows that this is a big step for the Mayor. Regina can relinquish some control over her house rules, but stepping into unknown physical territory with Emma is still a source of anxiety.

Emma sees it on Regina's features, feels it in the tense posture of the other woman, but she pulls the rope tight, knotting it and yanking on the ends with a grunt. Regina shifts in the chair, planting her feet flat onto the ground and pressing back against the chair. She cranes her neck to glance over her shoulder and catches Emma's eye.

"Used to be in the boy scouts," Emma quips, mouth quirking up at the side and nodding her head down at the rope that's already making white indentations into Regina's skin.

"And I used to be a contortionist," Regina comments dryly, "which is surely the reason you've bent my arms back so far and expected me to maintain this position."

Emma moves around the chair and stands in front of Regina, looking down at her with not a little amount of concern. _Maybe this is a bad idea_, she thinks; maybe it's too soon or too fast or too much for Regina to give up all at once.

"Really, dear," Regina mutters, seeing the contemplation on Emma's face. "I daresay I can cope with a little discomfort. Shall we just get on with this?"

"Okay," Emma frowns and shakes her head. "First of all, when I suggested this, I didn't imagine it would be so…so…**organized**, you know?"

Regina purses her lips but doesn't look away; Emma reaches out and sweeps a lock of hair back behind Regina's ear, fingertips lingering on the other woman's cheek.

"And secondly," she adds in a softer, gentler tone, "it's meant to be fun. Sexy." She glances around the room, at the paintings on the walls, the stylish interior design, the long dining table behind her and the vase of flowers that is always at its center.

"You **do** remember how to have fun, don't you, Regina?" Emma turns back to the other woman, leaning in so that her lips hover just inches away from Regina's mouth. She hears the sharp intake of breath, the sigh that comes afterwards, anticipation ticking a nerve high up on Regina's cheek.

"That's better," Emma says, smiling. And then she kisses Regina, sliding her hands into dark hair that falls like silk over her fingers, nails scraping over the other woman's scalp. Regina moans into her mouth, straining against the bonds holding her to the chair, against the desire that blooms like a night flower in her chest, already rooted in the feelings she's tried to deny.

The kiss deepens, becoming almost frantic: a conflagration of lips, tongue, teeth. Somehow, Regina's shirt becomes unbuttoned under Emma's touch, a couple of the pearl fastenings ripped from silk, clattering away across the wooden floor of the dining room. By the time Emma wrenches herself away, she stares down at what remains. Regina's shirt is almost off one shoulder now, the lace of her bra starkly white against skin that is flushed with crimson want.

Sometimes Emma thinks that she can look at Regina forever and not quite fathom how beautiful the other woman is. Sometimes she feels as though all she ever _wants_ to do is look at Regina, because when she's like this, unraveling before her eyes, the sight of it constricts her chest so much that she can barely breathe.

It's been a long time since she's felt that way. Even longer since she's wanted to. But then, that's Regina's magic, Emma thinks with a slow smile; to cast a spell over her past, obliterating the hurt enough so that all Emma wants to do is indulge in the feelings she has for this woman, the desire to explore their boundaries and beyond, the need to be with her, whatever Regina might have done.

Behind her on the table are two bowls, one laden with ripe strawberries and one filled with melted chocolate. Emma picks up a strawberry and pops it into her mouth, chewing enthusiastically and letting out a moan as the fruit explodes sweetness across her tongue.

"Seriously," she says without looking back at Regina, "you need to try these. They're delicious."

"Isn't that the point of this?" Regina responds, but her voice is tight and Emma grins as she reaches for another strawberry and dips it into the chocolate.

"Here," she spins around and pushes the fruit at Regina, swathing an uneven line of chocolate over Regina's lower lip and chuckling at the aggrieved look that enters a pair of dark eyes.

"Sorry," Emma adds, but it's clear that she's not and she bends, the tip of her tongue sweeping over Regina's lip before she takes it between her own and sucks noisily.

Regina, for her own part, is trying hard, but as she lunges forwards and Emma takes a step back, she's suddenly, painfully aware that she's tied to a chair. That she's given up any and all control over what Emma can do; that in doing so, she's acquiesced to the will of another.

Realizing it for the first time since they packed Henry off to Mary Margaret's apartment and began this charade, Regina feels a flutter of trepidation in her chest. Because this is real. And so is the burgeoning want in her chest, trickling down to pool between her thighs. She isn't sure whether it's the taste of Emma, the dusky chocolate or the fact that she's completely at someone else's mercy. But as she watches Emma sway in front of her, dipping the strawberry into the chocolate once more, Regina swallows hard, licking at her lips.

The next time Emma turns to her, she shoves the strawberry into Regina's mouth and watches as white teeth sink into the lush, red fruit. Emma nods and her mouth curves into a smile as she lifts the half-eaten strawberry to her mouth and nibbles at it.

"More?" she asks. Regina nods curtly, almost ashamed to admit to it. But when another strawberry is pushed against her lips, she opens them and bites down again gladly. This time, she lets out a tiny groan at the combination of flavors and Emma cocks her head to one side, surveying her with amused interest.

"You're right," Regina says, "they **are** good."

Emma shrugs. "Only the best for you, your Majesty," she jokes, but she can see how the title puts lines around Regina's eyes and tightens her mouth. And she can't help herself, she leans in again and presses her mouth to Regina's, her tongue chasing traces of chocolate across lips that greedily move against her own.

Hands reaching blindly for Regina's shirt, Emma tears it from the other woman's shoulders and hears a faint ripping. Regina hesitates at the sound, but as Emma pushes the material as far down Regina's tethered arms as she can, it doesn't seem to matter. It's funny, really, how the things that she clung to no longer appear important when Emma's mouth is on her own, when Emma's fingers are scrabbling at her skin, pushing the straps of her bra down.

"Do you want to touch me?" Emma whispers into Regina's ear, teeth biting down on an earlobe and tugging at it.

Regina catches her breath, closing her eyes and shivering at the hot breath that floods over her cheek. "Yes," she forces out, pulling at the bonds on her wrists. "Yes, god, yes."

Emma laughs gently, and it drifts somewhere between mockery and pleasure as she draws back, fingers moving to her own shirt and unbuttoning it. It falls to the floor behind her and her hands move to the button of her jeans before she pauses, her thumbs hooking into the waistband for a second.

"How does it feel?" she asks, cocking her head onto one side. "Being tied up, I mean. Not being able to touch me."

"You really want me to tell you?" Regina has the presence of mind to snort dismissively, but it comes out rather more as a hitching breath and she looks away, ashamed.

Fingers grasp her chin, forcing her head up so that Emma can stare into her eyes.

"I want you to tell me **everything**," Emma says, and there's a gleam to her gaze that is flinty, hardened by all Regina's secrets that have kept her in ignorance for far too long.

Silence roars between them for a long minute until Emma lets go of Regina's chin with a huff of laughter. She snatches at the button on her jeans now, yanking them down over her legs until she can finally kick them away across the floor. Placing her hands onto her hips, Emma is brazen, lifting her chin defiantly into the air.

"You know I can do anything, right?" Her words come out in staccato sounds and Regina understands that she doesn't have to be restrained in order for Emma to do whatever she likes; she of all people knows that once someone has possession of a heart, then its former owner is powerless in almost every way.

"Yes," Regina bows her head again. "I know."

"Then tell me," Emma says, another strawberry in her hand, this time carelessly dipped into chocolate so that her fingertips are covered in it. She takes a step closer to Regina and stands over her, teasing and threatening all at the same time.

"I feel…" Regina begins, biting at her lower lip, eyes following the lines of Emma's muscular legs until they reach the pitiful scrap of material that the blonde calls underwear. Her gaze traces the taut stomach upwards, the white remnants of scars from long ago that pucker skin and linger in the past; a time before Regina; a time before any of this.

"I don't like it," she finally confesses, a sob welling in her voice. "I don't want to be like this."

"What, vulnerable?" Emma supplants the word in Regina's mind and receives a woeful nod for her pains.

"Don't you understand?" she continues, throwing a leg over Regina's knees and perching on the other woman's lap. "Regina," she murmurs gently, "this is when I like you the most."

Surprised eyes turn to her as she moves, brushing up against Regina's torso, flesh meeting flesh. And she holds the chocolate covered strawberry between them like some sort of peace offering, eyes sparkling wickedly.

"I don't – " Regina begins, but Emma cuts her off with a frown and shakes her head.

"No," she tells Regina. "No talking. Not from you."

A droplet forms at the tapered tip of the strawberry before it falls in a lengthened, slow line onto Regina's clavicle, trailing an elongated, sticky rivulet towards the white lace of her bra. Emma smiles as she feels Regina stiffen underneath her. Yes; Regina hates mess. Regina hates anything that she hasn't orchestrated or demanded or taken.

Knowing _that_ only makes Emma's grin broaden and she adopts an apologetic expression as she blinks at Regina.

"Oh dear," she says, her voice laden with false sentiment. "Look at the mess I've made."

She pushes forwards with her hips, effectively grinding herself onto Regina's lap and hears the tiny, anguished whimper in the other woman's throat with something like triumph.

"I'd better take care of that," she hums, bending her head, tongue scooping up the chocolate from Regina's hot skin. Above her head, Regina hisses in pleasure; the sound shivers down Emma's spine and she shifts again, feeling herself become wet and wanting. By the time she kisses Regina again, smearing chocolate over their lips, Emma has all but forgotten the lengthy, torturous plan she had for this evening.

"Emma…" Regina grinds out against the blonde's mouth, guttural and graveled with how she's aching to touch, to be touched, to satisfy the throbbing between her legs that ripples throughout her entire body.

"Nuh uh," Emma leans back, wagging a finger of admonishment in front of Regina's alarmed eyes. "I said, no talking. And I meant it."

The tone of her voice is stern, even though she's moving on Regina's legs now in ever increasing circles, pushing downwards, breath quickening as she does so. Her chest is rising and falling as she squeezes her eyes shut for a second and tries to assert some of the control she's learned.

But there are few lessons that could have prepared her for this woman, for how it feels when they walk the line between love and lust.

Emma grabs at her own bra, shoving it to upwards, exposing her breasts. With a hand much more steady than her growing impatience suggests, she takes the strawberry and daubs chocolate over her skin. Her nipples are already hard, puckering underneath her touch, and she draws in a ragged breath as the strawberry falls to the floor.

Regina's mouth is open and Emma reaches up, pushing sticky fingers over the softness of lips that she's tasted. Regina receives them hungrily, sucking at them, teeth scraping over skin. But it isn't until the tip of Regina's tongue flutters over the soft pads of Emma's fingertips that the blonde groans loudly.

"Jesus, Regina," Emma mutters, tugging her fingers from the other woman's mouth and reaching around to grasp the back of the chair with clawed fingers. She rises up on the chair, allowing Regina to bend her head and take Emma's nipple into her mouth. Her teeth close around it and tug on it, while her tongue flicks mercilessly across the sensitive tip, driving sharp stabs of feeling all the way down Emma's body to hover between her thighs with delicious intent.

Regina sucks especially hard now, her teeth like razor blades on Emma's nipple as she moves in the chair, the pressure of Emma's legs on her own a rising heat that seeps up her body. The chocolate that covered Emma's nipple is long gone, but still Regina bathes the hard nub with her tongue, clenching it between her teeth.

Emma takes her free hand, fingers still damp from Regina's tongue, and slides it down her body, past the waistband of her underwear and between her legs. She's wet. It doesn't take much for her to slide her fingers further in, bumping over her clitoris and making her cry out as the contact races through her body.

Her hand moves from the chair to the back of Regina's head, splayed out over black hair, bringing them closer together. Regina realizes what Emma's doing and lets out a disappointed moan, releasing Emma's nipple and struggling to free herself from her bonds once more. But the more she tugs on the rope, the tighter it seems to get around her wrists and it isn't long before she lets out a groan, frustrated and desperate.

"Don't struggle," Emma breathes into her ear, blonde hair whispering over Regina's skin as she moves, half-naked and tied to the chair.

Regina's been struggling for most of her life, one way or another, and it's become second nature to her now. To give up, give in and surrender would do her no favors at all, but she knows without doubt that she has no choice as far as Emma Swan is concerned. So she throws her head back and stares up at the woman straddling her, one hand fisting her hair, the other thrust inside panties that Regina can feel are soaked through.

"That's right," Emma murmurs as Regina becomes still, their eyes meeting in tacit understanding. "That's it."

Regina thinks she must look unkempt, in disarray, and she's almost afraid to see her reflection in Emma's eyes as the blonde begins to move against her, hips swaying from side to side and fingers pushing deeper. Without even thinking, Regina's head dips again, teeth closing around Emma's nipple and she tugs on it, pushing her head back against Emma's grasp.

Letting out a cry of pain, Emma's eyes fly wide open and her nails scrabble on Regina's scalp, digging in with pinpricks of hurt. But Regina won't let go. Not now. Maybe not ever. That thought alone is enough to send fear speeding through her veins.

Emma's finding it hard to breathe, sucking in huge lungfuls of air and panting them back out again over rapidly drying lips and a tongue that won't say what it wants to, no matter how hard she thinks it. She plunges her fingers in and out of herself, dropping her head and finding Regina's ear.

"Do you want me to come for you?" she asks, her voice begging for release more than anything else. "Do you?"

Regina daren't speak; she knows she's not supposed to. And if she does, if she voices her desire and inherent need, then it might just shatter this magical moment, this illusion of a shared experience that she's always wanted with Emma but never been brave enough to ask for. So she nods silently, her teeth biting down hard on Emma's nipple and the blonde gasps again, clinging onto Regina as though for dear life itself.

It doesn't take long. And as Emma crests over the surge of feeling that starts down low in the pit of her stomach, it's Regina's name that she calls out, followed by a string of expletives that tumble from her mouth in quick succession. She jerks forwards and Regina is covered in her, smothered by her and enveloped in everything that is this infuriating, impossible creature whom she's allowed into her town, her home, her heart.

Emma's head bows and falls onto Regina's neck; she is still for a long, breathless moment. So still, in fact, that when she looks up and moves back a little, she blinks almost sleepily as though waking from an enchanted sleep. But this town has been sleeping for thirty years, give or take, and Regina feels as though she's been waking up ever since Emma set foot in Storybrooke.

They look at one another, faces flushed and a slow smile curving Emma's lips. Then she pulls her hand from her underwear, lifting her fingers to touch them gently onto Regina's mouth. They're wet, heady with the musky scent of arousal and Regina's tongue works around the tip of one, then slips between them, taking them into her mouth and tasting what was denied to her. _Forbidden fruit_, she thinks sardonically. _It's always the most poisonous, the most pervasive._

Withdrawing her fingers, Emma leans down and places a sweet kiss onto Regina's lips, lingering just long enough to taste herself there. She knows she should move, separate herself from Regina as quickly as possible to avoid the sentiment that's bubbling up into her throat, urging her to say and do things that she can't take back. But, looking into Regina's eyes, she just can't bring herself to move and stays where she is, wishing that the other woman had her arms free so that she might allow herself to be held.

But taking away that option was probably part of her plan, Emma tells herself. And she lets out a tiny sigh at the weapons she uses against herself, always so destructive.

"I didn't," she begins, then lets out a self-conscious laugh. "I didn't really mean for that to happen."

She wonders if Regina knows what she's talking about; wonders if she herself even knows. Because it _is_ happening, no matter how much they've tried to rail against it. And it will continue to do so, despite their best efforts to prevent it.

Regina runs her tongue over her lower lip, an involuntary act that makes Emma look away and glance around the room. She's not sure she wants to bear witness to her own demise.

"I'm glad it did," Regina says, and her voice is scratchy, graveled. She can feel her hands starting to grow a little numb and flexes her fingers.

"Yeah?" Emma squints down at her and lets out a sigh of relief, rubbing at a patch of chocolate on Regina's cheek with her thumb. "So…I guess you like chocolate covered strawberries then." She shrugs dismissively but her thumb pauses, resting on Regina's skin with a tentative, delicate touch.

Regina smiles, and it's tender and fearful and a hundred different things all at once under Emma's half-lidded scrutiny.

"I do," she nods, leaning into the palm that Emma presses against her cheek. "They taste like you."


End file.
